


Heart Tartare

by hannibae



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Barebacking, Begging, Bottom Will, Breathplay, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Light BDSM, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Spanking, Sub Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 10:09:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5782066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibae/pseuds/hannibae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s spread wide, on his knees and facing the headboard, arms tied to the posts with the soft fabric Hannibal bought specifically for this purpose. There are no calluses on the hands running across his body, no cuts or scrapes or sharp nails. Everything about those hands is perfect. They press into Will with just the right amount of pressure, bruise and break the skin in the most exquisite way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart Tartare

Will learns something about Hannibal in their posthumous existence.

No, that isn’t entirely true when he thinks about it because he learns many more things than just the one, but none that linger between them at all times like this. There are plenty of layers to Hannibal Lecter, words winding down his spine and running through his veins with such avarice that they get tangled amongst each other and leave it impossible to really know the man beneath the veil.

Will’s gotten a peek, peeled back enough layers to get to the truth of it all, to be able to trace his fingers along the words buried there, carved into bone and littering the surface of his muscles. Thin and feeble little things, invisible to anyone that isn’t Will, Hannibal works hard at covering them all up, replacing them with a solid veneer of coldness—a heartless, malefic, sub-human body covered up with the calm, charming mask Hannibal wears with such confidence.

They’ve been working on Will’s confidence, and that’s when Will sees how kind Hannibal’s hands are, even when they’re ripping out someone’s throat, nails splintering under the muscle and sinew, fingers wrapping around fistfuls of meat and blood and cartilage. When they’re done snuffing out the life of the man beneath them, Hannibal’s hands never shake, never stutter, never hesitate. Hannibal’s hands hold Will’s trembling, scared, unsure ones with such grace, such power, that Will wishes nothing more than to reach inside them, tear them apart, just to see if he can have that, too. He wants that surety, body arching towards the heat of it when Hannibal spreads him out underneath him, mouths at his collarbones and whispers words Will doesn’t understand into his skin.

He trembles now, those deft, sure hands running down the lines of his back, dancing along his ribs just to make Will squirm and tug against the ties wrapped around his wrists. His lungs pull in breath like he can’t get enough of it, body strung tight as Hannibal traces along the curves of his body with his hands and mouth. Teeth come out to play with little bits of skin, littering him with reds and purples, indentions of sharp teeth.

“Come back to me, Will,” Hannibal warns, and pinches at a mark he left yesterday, right on the sensitive part of Will’s inner thigh, making him wince and twist against his bonds.

He moans thickly, his body vibrating. “I’m here, Daddy,” he promises, eyes slipping shut when Hannibal presses his mouth to the back of his neck.

He’s spread wide, on his knees and facing the headboard, arms tied to the posts with the soft fabric Hannibal bought specifically for this purpose. There are no calluses on the hands running across his body, no cuts or scrapes or sharp nails. Everything about those hands is perfect. They press into Will with just the right amount of pressure, bruise and break the skin in the most exquisite way.

Will is trembling, and Hannibal is not. Hannibal never does. Not when Will touches him, not when he’s watching the blood pour out of the young man they’d tracked down and sunk their teeth into for spilling coffee on Hannibal one morning. His hands don’t shake when Hannibal tends to his own wounds, or when he’s bent over in bed, sweating and dry-heaving from food poisoning.

They’re strong and smart and savvy, never shaking or ill-composed.

 Will absolutely loves when they’re pressed to his body and—

“ _Fuck_!” he shouts, solid and loud when Hannibal brings his hand down over Will’s ass, just once, but hard enough to bring him back out of his thoughts.

“I told you to come back to me,” Hannibal tells him. “It’s not my fault you didn’t listen.”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” Will bites out, body still tense from the heat of Hannibal’s hand.

Hannibal hums, and Will pants at the sound, knowing he’s either about to be punished or rewarded, depending on Hannibal’s mood and what he thinks Will needs most right now. “I’m not sure I’m convinced,” he finally tells him, hand coming up to brush Will’s hair off his forehead.

Will opens his mouth to ask, to find out what he can do to let Hannibal know he’s right here, that he won’t slip away again, that he’s _sorry_ , but as soon as he does, two long fingers are sliding in, pressing as far back as they can. And Hannibal is right in his ear, telling him, “I don’t know where you’re going in that head of yours, Will, but I know how to let you know where I expect you to be when you’re with me.”

Hannibal’s free hand comes up to tug the ties free of their knots, and Will’s body sags against Hannibal’s own without the support of being held up. He aches all over, muscles tense from being in that position for so long. And now his jaw hurts, mouth being held open by Hannibal’s fingers, spit slicking his chin and dribbling down his neck. He’s panting still, adjusting and preparing and knowing what’s coming next.

“I love you like this, Will,” Hannibal murmurs, mouth right next to Will’s ear. “Pliable and mine—I do wish you were better-behaved, however. I hadn’t realized we had to discuss you being present while I’ve got you tied to my bed.”

He wants to protest, squeezing his eyes shut and doing his best to slow down his breathing, but Hannibal’s fingers hold his tongue down and make speech impossible. He knows the last thing Hannibal wants to hear is unintelligible gurgling, which is all he’d be able to manage, so he keeps his arguments to himself, waits to be told how he can make this better.

“Maybe we ought to go over the rules again?” And then Hannibal’s fingers are gone, instead dropping to wrap tight around the base of Will’s cock.

God, he’s so hard, and Hannibal’s not making it any easier. His hips buck up, and he knows he fucks up again with that. Especially when Hannibal spanks him again, pulls away entirely. Next thing Will knows, he’s being manhandled to lie on his back, pulled until his head is hanging over the side of the bed. He doesn’t even register Hannibal standing up until he’s pressing the head of his cock through Will’s lips.

“All the way down for ten seconds and then you’re going to tell me your first rule, yes?”

He nods his head, tongue flattening and mouth opening more so Hannibal can press in further, slow and steady for now. Will knows once Hannibal decides Will’s ready for more, the mercy is going to be gone. There’s not a lot of struggle anymore to take Hannibal all the way down his throat, but the angle chosen isn’t the best one for this sort of thing. That was the point, Will knows, and he has to work hard not to choke once he’s all the way to the base of Hannibal’s cock.

Will holds up his hands, counts on his fingers for Hannibal to see, and as soon as he gets to ten, Hannibal pulls out. It hurts to breathe, and he wants to wipe away the spit slicking his face, but doesn’t want to get punished all over again. He takes a deep breath and starts, “Rule number one is that I will always be honest and respectful with you.”

“And what does that involve?” Hannibal reaches down to stroke at Will’s neck, fingers dancing along his Adam’s apple in sympathy.

He takes a second to swallow. “It involves telling you if I’m uncomfortable, but doing so without insulting you or myself.”

“Good boy.” Will opens his mouth again, waiting, and swells with pride at the praise. “Again.”

This time, Hannibal is less careful, sliding home almost immediately, pulling back until Will is just licking at the head, throat raw already. He pushes back in, hands coming to rest on Will’s chest as he rocks his hips, fucking Will’s open throat.

He holds his hands up again, counts, and lets Hannibal wipe at the tears he sheds from trying not to choke. Ten seconds lasts an hour, and Will is so thankful when Hannibal pulls out that he sobs out his relief. “Rule number two,” he pants out, and Hannibal waits patiently for him to catch his breath before continuing. “In order to receive pleasure, I must earn it. In order to receive punishments, I must deserve them.”

Hannibal smiles down at him, just briefly, and Will warms. “Two more. You’re doing so well, Will. Open up for me.”

Ten seconds later, Will is actually crying, body shaking and chest heaving. Hannibal doesn’t wipe at his tears this time, lets them roll down and land on the carpet below. Will reaches out and puts his hands on Hannibal’s thighs, just to give himself some support. It takes him a couple of seconds before he can get out, “Rule number three is to trust you to know what I need.”

Hannibal’s fingers run through Will’s hair, just once, just to let him know he’s still right there, keep him grounded while he takes his punishment. This is the last one, and Hannibal holds for fifteen seconds instead of ten. Will can see himself panicking, but knows he’s safe, knows Hannibal would never hurt him. With shaking hands, he counts to fifteen, and takes another twenty seconds to calm himself down.

“Rule number four is to allow you to take care of me,” and his voice is nearly a whisper at this point, scratchy and rough from the abuse on his throat.

As soon as he gets the words out, Hannibal leans down over him and kisses him, wet from the spit on his face that he doesn’t seem to be worried about. Will is shaking and crying, and Hannibal’s hands sooth the panic away, fingers keeping him grounded while he tries to calm down. He allows himself to be pawed at, Hannibal silently checking that Will is okay, still on board because he _knows_ Will’s limits. Asphyxiation is high up on his list of things he does not enjoy, but that he’s accepting of, even a little grateful for it when Hannibal presents him with it; and that’s how they decided it was to be a punishment. One evening, Hannibal spent three hours fucking Will, hands coming up every now and then to wrap around his throat and squeeze, staving off Will’s orgasm and replacing it with a split-second of fear instead.

He knows now how intimately he understands those hands. Every tiny little movement over his skin means something, whether it’s a pinch or a scratch or a gentle caress. And he trusts them to take care of him. He trusts Hannibal to take care of him.

Just like he is now, passing his fingers through Will’s hair while he kisses the breath out of him, licks at the top of his palette and swallows down all the sounds Will makes for him.

When he does pull away, Hannibal tells him, “You did a very good job for me, Will. I forgive you.”

“Thank you, Sir.” His throat burns, feels thick and used and he knows that feeling won’t go away for a couple of days. Hannibal will subtly hand him mugs of hot tea until he’s sure Will is feeling better.

“Sit up for me,” he’s told, those hands pressing to him again, guiding him upright. “On your stomach, please.”

Will obeys, gets his knees under him like he knows Hannibal is expecting, and puts his arms above his head, waits to be told what to do with them. The murmured ‘ _good boy_ ’ comes and he shivers, face heating up with the praise.

“Daddy, please,” he whispers, body shaking when Hannibal’s mouth falls on his shoulder blade.

“Mm, what is you want from Daddy, Will?” and he feels Hannibal shift, watches him reach over to the bedside table grab the lube. He’s sinking his teeth into Will’s skin now, biting hard enough to have him crying out with it. “You have to tell me what you want or you’ll get nothing at all.”

Will chokes out a sound, and buries his head into the pillows.

Hannibal’s hand comes down again, over the heat that was already there from the other two slaps. “On your back, now, if you’re going to behave that way.”

His hands are biting now, rough and harsh against Will’s ribs and thighs as he manhandles him again, gets him where he wants him. Nails dig into his flesh, just enough to get Will yelping, pleading for it to stop. “Are you going to be good for me now, or do I have to keep punishing you? And I expect an answer.”

“I’m going to be good for you, Daddy, I promise,” he chokes out, arching into the feeling of Hannibal’s hands bruising and scratching at him. “But if you think I deserve to be punished, then I respect your decision.”

“Do you want me to keep punishing you?” And this is a game now, to see how much Hannibal can get out of Will from this state, this far into his role as Hannibal’s submissive.

The truth is right there on the tip of his tongue, but Will doesn’t think he can get the words out right now, body aching for Hannibal’s hands to hurt him in the most delectable ways. He shouts when Hannibal’s hand comes down over his thigh, already so sensitive from being bitten and bruised.

“I think you do want to be punished,” Hannibal says, leans down and sinks his teeth into Will’s thigh, right where he’s most sensitive, at the curve of his groin. “I think you like it almost as much, if not more, than being praised. Am I right, Will?”

He bites again, sharp teeth almost breaking skin, and Will yells, “ _Yes_ , Daddy! Fuck!”

“Say it.” No more teeth, but Hannibal sucks at his mark, hand wrapping around Will’s cock, just enough pressure to tease.

“I like—I like when you punish me, Daddy,” he stutters, mouth opening around a silent scream when Hannibal sinks his mouth down around his cock, meets his hand with his mouth and swallows. Will knows better than to thrust up, but god, does he want to. Wants to reach down and tangle his hands in Hannibal’s hair, fuck up into the wet heat of that mouth that causes so much fear in so many people. He’s not scared of any of it, not of Hannibal or the things he’s done—the things he could do to Will should he want to.

He pleads for it, arches into the feeling of being broken and bent and wrung out by this man who so many cower from. He’s drawn to him, to the sharp teeth, the huge, powerful hands. Hannibal is one step ahead of Will at all times, and it’s refreshing to just accept the things that come his way whether it’s punishment or praise or something in-between.

Hannibal knows what Will needs and wants and begs for before Will even knows. He’s only been wrong once, and they figured it out, talked over a glass of wine, and tried again a few weeks later.

This feeling of hands on him, so sure and steady and strong, is thrilling and empowering. The same with this mouth around his cock, and he could fuck up, could deliberately land himself in an uncomfortable situation if he really wanted to. But he could also be obedient, do what he does best and listen to Hannibal, let him tell him what to do, and get rewarded for being so good.

The sweet, sweet torture that lurks behind such a simple movement of rocking his hips up, making Hannibal choke on him, is tempting, but not what he needs right now.

He keeps his hands to himself, keeps his hips still, and digs his fingers into the mattress as Hannibal licks his way up Will’s cock. When he goes down again, it’s all the way, just for a few moments, and then he’s pulling away, slicking his fingers, and trailing them down.

“Ask me politely, and I’ll considering giving it to you,” Hannibal says, wet finger just barely touching Will’s hole.

“Please, Daddy,” Will whines, reaches out and puts one hand on Hannibal’s stomach, trying to urge him on gently. “Please, I want it so bad. Daddy’s big cock filling me up and fucking me so hard.”

“Mm, good boy, Will,” and he slips in one slick finger, presses in with the second one after just a few seconds. “You make such a lovely picture like this, my boy. All willing and desperate for me is exactly how I want you, do you understand?”

He presses in with a third finger, too fast, but just what Will needs. He nods his head jerkily, moans thickly at the feeling of being so stretched already.

“I want you aching for me. I wish to spread you out as often as I can and make you weep for my mouth on your skin, my hands bruising you until you look the very picture of debauched. I want to bend you over and spank you until your skin is hot, fuck into you and feel the heat of it against me,” Hannibal says, fucking into him hard with his fingers, curling them up until Will is seeing stars, whining high in the back of his throat. He’s making pitiful sounds, but they’re drowned out with Hannibal’s talking.

“I want you trembling under me, Will, writhing against the sheets while I fuck you. I want you thanking me for giving you my cock.” He pulls his fingers out at that, and Will groans at the emptiness, twists his fingers into the sheets harder.

“Oh, _Daddy_ ,” Will keens, arching hard when Hannibal guides the head of his cock to Will’s slick hole. “Please! Please, fuck me, Daddy.”

“You’re such a good boy for Daddy,” Hannibal sighs, one hand wrapping around Will’s thigh and pushing to spread him even more. He sinks in slowly, making Will squirm underneath him, wringing out a mewling sound from his chest.

He finally bottoms out, pulls back, and fucks back in hard enough to have Will jerking up the bed with it. “Oh, _fuck_ , Hannibal,” he moans, thick and loud and rough. “Yes, please, keep fucking me just like this.”

One of his hands come up and wrap around Will’s neck briefly, before he slips two fingers past his lips, into his mouth again, pressing far enough back that Will nearly gags. He knows better than to, though, knows to control it so Hannibal can watch the spit dribble down his chin, his neck, making a mess of himself so that by the end of this, he’ll be absolutely disgusting.

The feeling of being held open in so many ways, thighs tight and aching from Hannibal spreading him as wide as he goes, his jaw pinching when Hannibal adds a third finger into his mouth and tugs down, the feeling of Hannibal’s cock filling him up, it’s all got him trembling, just how Hannibal wanted him to be.

He’s exactly how Hannibal wishes, how Hannibal has put him, and he doesn’t ever want to be any other way for as long as they’re both alive.

His cock is pressed to his stomach, hard and leaking onto his skin, and Hannibal slips his fingers out of Will’s mouth to reach down and wrap his fist around the base, wet and tight and perfect. With just a little more, a better angle and more pressure, Will is going to come. His whole body tenses, and he waits for Hannibal to tell him he can, to give him that permission he knows to respect.

Today it’s too much, Hannibal’s cock ruthlessly pounding into him, his hand slippery with Will’s own spit, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can last.

“Can I come, Daddy?”

Usually, he doesn’t ask, already knows the answer every single time, but the words tumble out of him without him thinking about it, and Hannibal raises an eyebrow, speeds up his thrusts, and asks, “Do you want to come or do you need to come, Will? Think about your answer before you give it.”

Will arches, writhes down harder on Hannibal’s cock and does his best to hold off. “ _Oh_ , please, I want it— _please_ let me come, Daddy,” he mewls, eyes fluttering shut when Hannibal pistons his hips and sends flames licking down Will’s spine with every slide of Hannibal’s cock into him.

“No,” Hannibal tells him, jerking Will’s cock faster, fucking into him harder, slower, drawing his thrusts out just right. “No, you may not come.”

“ _Please_ ,” Will cries, body drawn tight, shaking, and sweat dripping off of him. His hands come up to grab at Hannibal, nails catching a little bit on his chest, making Hannibal chuckle softly. “Please, I can’t—I need to, Daddy, please. I need to come; please let me come.”

“Just from my cock, then,” and he removes his hand, lets it come down to Will’s other thigh, and spread him farther than is comfortable. His whole body aches, his muscles burn, and he’s so close there are tears rolling down his face.

As soon as the words register in his brain, Will sobs out, cock jerking against his stomach as he comes, Hannibal’s name falling off the tip of his tongue. “Thank you, Daddy,” Will slurs, cock still twitching, drooling onto his stomach as Hannibal fucks him through his sensitivity. “Thank you so much.”

“You are such a good boy for me, my dear Will,” Hannibal praises, leaning down to slot their mouths together, kissing Will lazily as his hips work slowly. They kiss like that for a while, Will’s body oversensitive and responding to every little touch. He can feel Hannibal’s chest hair rubbing against him, his nails biting into his skin, everything so stark and new now that the fog of desperation is gone. This is one of his favorite things, coming down and having Hannibal right there, in his senses, while he takes what he needs from Will.

“Are you going to come in me, Daddy?” he asks, loving the way Hannibal tenses, the sound of his rough moan rumbling in his chest. “Come inside me, make me yours? Make me feel it for the rest of the night? I love when you do that.”

He kisses Hannibal again, swallows around the harsh, little sounds he makes, and smiles when he comes, clenches down and shivers when Hannibal groans, “Oh, _Will_.”

They stay like that for a while, panting against each other and waiting for each other to calm down. It’s always intense when they do this, when they slip into these roles, and Will is exhausted by the end of it all.

Hannibal eventually pulls out, slips away with a brief kiss to Will’s forehead, and disappears into the bathroom. Will stretches while he’s gone, smiles when his muscles burn against the strain. He’s still vibrating, coming down from the high, and everything is warm and slick.

With Hannibal’s sense of smell, Will can only imagine how he must seem right now, covered in spit and come and sweat, rolling around in their bed. Some nights, Hannibal will make Will stand, maybe with a plug in so none of his come slips out, and watch him strip the bed. Then he’ll bathe him, dry him off, give him a massage, and give him a glass of whiskey while he cleans himself up.

Tonight will be different, Will knows. Tonight was about the mess, the heat and desperation of it all. He’ll be lucky to get a washcloth wiping it all away, depending on how generous Hannibal is feeling.

Secretly, he hopes for the plug, but knows it probably won’t come, and he’ll be expected to control himself well enough not to make a mess until Hannibal is ready for this scene to end.

“On your stomach, Will,” he hears, and does as he’s told, stretching out on the bed in preparation for whatever Hannibal has for him. “I broke the skin a couple of times, and I’m just going to make sure they heal quickly.”

He lies still while Hannibal applies some sort of ointment to a few throbbing areas that Will hasn’t even felt until just now. It doesn’t take long, and when he’s done, Hannibal rolls him over again, kisses him sweetly, and says, “How I love you, my boy.”

And Will has learned, in his posthumous existence with Hannibal, that there isn’t a single person in this lifetime that will ever be able to care for him the way Hannibal does. This monster, this terrible, horrible, beast of a man is the only person who’s ever made Will feel this alive, this _loved_.

“I love you, too, Hannibal.”


End file.
